The art of losing isn't hard to master;/ so many things seem filled with the intent/ to be lost that their loss is no disaster./ Lose something everydady. Accept the fluster/ of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. / The art of losing isn't hard to master. / Then practice losing farther, losing faster:/ places, and names, and where it was you meant/ to travel. None of these will bring disaster./ I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or/ next-to-last, of three beloved houses went./ The art of losing isn't hard to master./ I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster/ some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent./ I miss them, but is wasn't a disaster./ Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture/ I love) I shan't have lied. It's evidente/ the art of losing's not too hard to master/ though it may look like (write it!) a disaster.
ELIZABETH BISHOP